Chapter 14
BELLE
Did this man really just call me his wife?
The word had slipped out of him so naturally. No hesitation. No irony. I hadn’t been prepared for how that would feel. The nurse hadn’t blinked. The receptionist hadn’t blinked. The world had simply accepted it. But I had felt it. It settled somewhere low and warm and unsettling in my chest.
My wife.
I was still trying to process that when my phone rang in the car.
Raphael had just helped me in carefully, efficiently, like he was assembling a valuable piece of equipment, and closed the door with that quiet deliberation of his.
Unknown number.
“Answer it,” he’d said.
The doctor’s voice came through, brisk but not unkind. Radiology had already reviewed the scan. Already. I listened, bracing for something catastrophic.
“Minor meniscus tear,” he said. “No surgical intervention needed at this time. Rest, compression, brace, anti-inflammatories. Physical therapy. Six to eight weeks before returning to regular activity. We will re-evaluate when you can return to your sport.”
“Thank you,” I told him. “I appreciate the quick turnaround.”
When I hung up, I stared at the dashboard for a second.
“That was fast,” I said.
Raphael didn’t look at me, but I saw the smallest shift in his posture.
“That was you,” I said, eyeing him.
“I requested expedited review.”
“You leaned on someone?” How was this man even real?
“I communicated urgency,” he corrected.
I almost smiled. He had absolutely leaned. And I wasn’t mad about it.
A minor tear sounded manageable, but six to eight weeks without contact meant no blocking. No bouts. No adrenaline-soaked Saturday nights under rink lights with my girls screaming my derby name. It meant sitting and watching. How on earth was I supposed to deal with my life when my outlet was gone?
I swallowed. “Can we swing by the rink?” I asked.
He glanced at me. “You require rest. You were instructed to avoid strain.”
“I’m not skating,” I said. “But it’s our scheduled practice. I just need to tell them.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “You can call them,” he said.
“That’s not the same. They’re my people. I just . . . I need to see them.” The words slipped out before I could overthink them. “I need to show up, even if I’m on crutches.”
He studied me like that meant something.
“Okay, but we won’t stay long. You’ve had a long day.”
Relief bloomed in my chest.
“Deal.”
He didn’t argue again. He just nodded once and gestured toward the console.
“Put in the address.”
We pulled into the rink parking lot twenty minutes later. The Grimm Reapers logo loomed over the entrance like it always did, with chipped paint and flickering lights, feeling slightly chaotic. It was home.
The Renault car did not belong in the Roll-O-Rama parking lot.
It gleamed in the late afternoon light, sleek and polished and entirely out of place among dented SUVs, bumper-stickered sedans, and Sonia’s perpetually questionable pickup truck.
Raphael parked closer than I usually would.
Of course he did. He got out before I could reach for the handle.
“I can manage,” I said automatically.
“I am aware.”
Which meant he was still going to help. He moved around to my side, opened the door, and offered his hand without looking at me.
Not forcing. Just . . . there. I took it.
Because the truth was, my knee throbbed like hell.
He helped me pivot out of the seat and settle onto the crutches. He closed the door and locked the car.
“You’re coming in?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I blinked. “This is derby practice.”
“Yes.”
“There will be glitter and loud, brash women.”
“What if I enjoy both of those things?"
I laughed despite myself. I adjusted the crutches and looked at the rink doors. Six to eight weeks out. I squared my shoulders.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go tell my people I’m benched.”
He fell into step beside me. Not ahead. Not behind. Beside. And for the first time since the MRI, the ache in my chest felt steadier than the ache in my knee.
“I don’t want you interfering,” I muttered.
“I won’t interfere.”
“You promise.”
“Yes.”
“And no looming.”
He considered that. “I’ll reduce looming.”
That was as close as I was getting.
“Fine,” I sighed.
We moved toward the entrance together. He opened the door, and as I hobbled by him, I caught his scent. It was expensive cologne for sure, but something more human underneath it. Having him there steadied me more than I wanted to admit. It was . . . nice. Annoyingly nice.
Once inside, the sound hit us immediately: wheels on polished wood, whistles, laughter, music thumping through the old speakers.
Home.
And then the sound dipped. Not completely. But enough. Heads turned. Sonia was the first to spot me.
“Belle?” Her gaze dropped immediately to the brace. “Oh, hell no.”
Within seconds, the team had circled us.
Mel skated up, ripping off her helmet. “What’s the word?”
“Tell me that’s decorative,” Robin said.
Zella just stared at the crutches. I exhaled slowly.
“Minor meniscus tear,” I said. “I’m out for six to eight weeks, but no.”
Groans erupted around me.
“Six to eight?” Mel repeated.
“Doctor’s orders.”
“You okay?” Eleanor asked softly, eyes scanning my face more than my knee.
“I’m fine,” I said automatically. Then, softer, “I’m fine. Just benched.”
Mel’s gaze flicked to Raphael for the first time. She took him in from his tailored jacket, controlled posture, to his hand still steady at my elbow.
“And who’s this?” she asked protectively. God, I love these women.
Before I could answer, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He glanced at the screen. “I’ll step outside,” he said quietly to me. “I’ll be right back in.”
He looked at Mel briefly before giving her a polite nod.
“Five minutes,” he said to me. It sounded less like a request and more like a time limit. Then he stepped away, heading back toward the doors.
The second they closed behind him, the circle tightened.
“Belle,” Eleanor whispered. “Why is the Beast here?”
“They call him the Beast?” Zella asked, eyes widening.
Mel’s eyes dropped to my left hand. She froze.
“Is that . . . ?”
I followed her gaze. The ring caught the rink lights. Oh. Right. I swallowed.
“Okay,” I said carefully. “Before anyone hyperventilates.”
Mel crossed her arms. “You got married.”
It wasn’t a question. I looked toward the doors where Raphael had disappeared, then back at my girls.
“Yeah,” I said.
The rink exploded. The rink did not, in fact, explode. It detonated.
“You did what?”
“Since when?”
“With him?”
“Belle.”
The questions layered over one another until I held up both hands.
“Stop. Stop. Everyone breathe.”
Mel crossed her arms. “Start talking.”
I shifted my weight carefully on the crutches.
“It’s not what you think.”
“That’s not comforting,” Robin muttered.
“I needed insurance,” I said.
That quieted them a little, not completely, but enough.
“I tore my knee. I don’t have coverage. He offered . . . a solution.”
Mel’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of solution?”
“Legal,” I said quickly.
“Define legal,” Sonia pressed.
“It’s . . . a temporary arrangement.” I chose that word carefully. I did not say marriage. I did not say wife. I did not look down at my hand.
Eleanor had gone quiet. She wasn’t looking at my knee. She was looking at the door.
“You know who he is?” she asked.
I nodded slowly, but some of the women didn’t know who he was.
“That’s Raphael Renault,” she said. “Of the Renault Group.”
A few of the girls blinked.
“Hotels,” Eleanor added. “Real estate. Ohio, Pennsylvania. That one in Columbus that’s under renovation.”
Mel looked from Eleanor to me. “And we’re calling him what?”
“The Beast,” Eleanor said. Robin nodded. She seemed to know of him, too.
“He looks like he’d audit the rink for OSHA violations,” Zella muttered.
I almost laughed.
“He’s . . . direct,” I said.
Mel stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Is he good to you?”
That question landed heavier than the rest. I thought about the crutches. The first-floor room. The pacing outside my door. The way he’d stood in the waiting room like the building personally offended him.
“He’s steady, and yeah, he has been good to me,” I said. That felt honest.
Mel studied me for a long moment. “And you’re okay with this?”
I nodded. “For now.”
Robin exhaled. “Six to eight weeks?”
“Yeah.”
Mel squeezed my shoulder gently. “You sit your stubborn ass down and heal.”
“Yes, coach.”
She rolled her eyes.
The doors swung open, and Raphael stepped back inside, phone now silent in his hand. The team shifted slightly, instinctively widening the circle.
He didn’t loom. He didn’t interfere. He simply observed, just like he had promised. And I realized something strange. He was out of his element here. But he wasn’t trying to control it. He was letting me have this.
After a few more reassurances and promises that I’d still show up to practices, just not on skates, I finally let him guide me back outside. The air had cooled. He opened the car door again. I didn’t argue this time.
Halfway home, I noticed something. The discharge paperwork I had left on the dashboard earlier was no longer there. It was neatly stacked on the center console . . . highlighted.
“You read them,” I said.
“Yes.”
I stared at the neon marks running across the pages.
“You highlighted them.”
“Yes. There are specific instructions regarding icing intervals.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“I knew you were going to be insufferable.”
“I am being thorough.”
“You’re going to schedule my physical therapy before we even get home, aren’t you?”
“Well, I can’t do it before we get home. That would be unreasonable.”
I glared at him. He did not look remotely apologetic.
“You are not micromanaging my knee,” I warned.
He looked at me with that small, half-smile of his. I liked that look on his face entirely too much.
“I can manage my own recovery.”
“I am aware.”
“Then why do I feel like I’ve been onboarded?”
He chuckled to himself, like I was endlessly amusing. “Because you resist structure.”
I stared at him. He wasn’t wrong. I hated that he wasn’t wrong.
“You’re not in charge of me,” I said quietly.
He didn’t answer immediately. That softened something I hadn’t realized was rigid.
“No, Belle, I’m not in charge of you.”
He adjusted the turn signal as we approached the estate gates.
“I’m simply invested,” he added.
The word settled between us. Why did I have an urge to let him be in control?
I looked down at the highlighted pages again. He was about to be insufferable. And for reasons I still didn’t fully understand, I wasn’t entirely mad about it.